


summer rain

by phybe



Series: Alina keeps her powers AU [2]
Category: The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Alina is in love, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Enthusiastic Consent, F/F, F/M, Fade to Black, General Alina, Multi, Mutual Pining, Nikolai is the sweetest man in Ravka, Polyamory, Queen Zoya, Zoya PoV, Zoya makes a magnificent queen, just anti-that epilogue that broke my heart, not anti-Mal, past Mal/Alina, which. who wouldn't be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:14:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27078628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phybe/pseuds/phybe
Summary: By all accounts, Zoya was the luckiest woman in Ravka.If it hadn’t been for the pretty face of a saint in the crowd, she might have believed that.---------------Where Alina keeps her powers, and Zoya gets married.
Relationships: Nikolai Lantsov/Zoya Nazyalensky, Zoya Nazyalensky/Alina Starkov
Series: Alina keeps her powers AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2183829
Comments: 23
Kudos: 71





	summer rain

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by an Inktober I drew, and my current obsession with Zoyalina.

The dress looked wonderful, of course. The pearls and jewels were heavy, the puffy sleeves were impractical, and the lace of the veil itched wherever it touched her skin, but it all looked wonderful, yes. Majestic, in fact.

“You could stand to smile a little more,” Genya piped as she kept on her work on Zoya’s lashes. Her tone was light and playful, but there was something serious underneath it, too, which Zoya pointedly chose to ignore.

“Haven’t you heard, dearest Genya?” she said drily. “I am to be the queen of Ravka. I think I’ll smile when I damn well please.”

“Insufferable,” she grinned. “I knew putting a crown on your head was Nikolai’s worst idea yet. You were already a bitch to start with — now, well, there’s just no hope, is there?”

“Given how many bad ideas Nikolai’s had, I take high offense in being crowned the _worst_. I’ll have you tried for lèse-majesté.”

“Your grace,” Genya said with all the insincere sweetness in the world, “is this really a threat you want to be making when I’m in perfect position to give you the worst acne spots of your life?”

“On my wedding day? You wouldn’t.”

“Honey, watch me.”

She did watch as Genya went back to work, her magic tickling where it brushed her skin. When it was done, she gave Zoya a small mirror to look upon the finished result, which was thankfully free of any vengeful pimples.

She looked wonderful, too. She fit in that dress, in all that ornate aristocratic glamour, like she’d always known she would. The jewels brought out the blue of her eyes, the white lace shone against her golden-brown skin. Soon, an expensive crown would be placed on her coiffed hair, and with it would come every opportunity she’d ever wished for. The power to change things. The chance to be loved, maybe. A life of luxury with a beautiful, charming king by her side. 

The purpose of the marriage was political, but even that suited her. Reason and national interests were much more reliable than romance.

Really, it was perfect.

_So why are you so damn unhappy, Zoya?_

She wasn’t, not really. Not most of the time. She was content, proud, and eager — thoughts of delicate hands and pearly white hair only came in passing, these days, enough to be quickly put aside, like unwanted rainclouds following a push of the wind.

***

It did not help that Alina looked wonderful, too.

She always did, Saints help her. Even back when she’d been a bony little thing in an ill-fitting first army uniform, she’d looked striking, beautiful — it was part of why Zoya had hated her so much. She’d taken the girl’s criminal lack of self-confidence for false modesty, and there was nothing that annoyed her more than a beautiful girl who pretended she did not know her worth.

It had taken a long time for Zoya to see that this modesty was actually disbelief. Alina had spent the first years of her life being called ordinary — _plain_ , she’d even said once. How anyone with functioning sight could think so was beyond Zoya — perhaps it was that Alina had looked too tired, or too Shu, or, more likely, that the people in her hometown had wretchedly poor taste. Regardless, the girl had believed them.

Alina knew she was beautiful, now. The confidence suited her almost as well as her new kefta, royal blue embroidered in glistening gold, with a medal of honour on her chest and a general’s stars sewn on the shoulder. Her silky white hair was wrapped around an intricate jewel that crowned her in a halo of sunrays. Sankta Alina. The Sun Summoner in all her glory.

“Wow,” Alina said when she noticed her. “And here I thought my get-up was too much.” She cocked her head, smiling amusedly. “I should have known better than to think I could out-stage you.”

“Indeed, you should have,” Zoya replied, leaning on the balcony rail. The ceremony would start soon, but she still had a bit of time.

“You _do_ make a magnificent queen,” Alina grinned. Zoya smiled at the memory. It seemed like so long ago, when she’d joked about that. “Not that I had any doubts. Nikolai is a lucky, hum… Well I’d say bastard, but that’s probably of poor taste.”

“Definitely poor,” she said with a lightness that did not match her mood. She did not want to think of Nikolai, now, not when it was just the two of them, close enough to touch — but it didn’t matter what she wanted, did it? She’d made her royal bed. “And you look adequate yourself. Mal is a lucky orphan.”

Alina laughed, but it was a little strangled. Zoya looked at her curiously.

“Ah, didn’t I tell you? Mal and I, we’re, uh — not like that, anymore.”

Zoya blinked.

Hold up.

No. No way. These two had been disgustingly in love since the moment Zoya had met them, always eager to die for each other, angsting over who was worthy enough for whom, saving the world in each other’s arms, Saints —

“What?” she gaped. “You’re telling me you and Mr Happily-Ever-After _broke up_?”

Only when Alina winced did Zoya realize this might not have been the most tactful thing to say.

“In so many words… Yeah.” Her eyes wandered, lost in the view of Os Alta. “I still love him. Always will, it’s just… Mal wants children, you know. And a house in the countryside. A nice, quiet life.”

“Saints. That sounds...” She didn’t know if she wanted to settle on _dreadful_ , _boring_ , or just plain _horrible_. Why would anyone want to live in the countryside? There were bugs there, and mud, and superstitious peasants. As for peace and quiet, Zoya had never been anything close to _that_ , and she didn’t intend to start before she died. Possibly not even after.

“It sounds like the peace he deserves,” Alina said gently. “But not a life I could have, even if I wanted it.”

Something tugged at Zoya’s chest, and she immediately resented the feeling. That was another reason why she’d hated Alina, at first — lots of unpleasant, unnecessary feelings. “You… don’t want it, then?”

She sighed. “I wanted to want it. But no. It’s not for me. Guess I’m more suited for the dangerous and the loud.”

Before Zoya could stop it, the thought came.

_You’re more suited for me._

It was not a new realization, exactly. Not the first time she’d thought she and Alina fit together, as if intended to. She’d long ago noticed how Alina looked at her, the endearing way she laughed at her jokes or scowled at her antics. The way their hands would brush and linger when they got a little too drunk, or how tightly they would hug after a long absence.

But none of that had ever mattered. There had always been Mal.

Mal, the love her life. The happy ever after. The reason why Alina had hated _her_ , at first. The weapon Zoya had used to hurt her, when the feelings in her chest had grown unbearable.

Mal was gone, now. To the countryside. To a peaceful life.

And Saints, what good was it to hear about it now? It changed nothing — Zoya was still getting married, still being crowned the queen of Ravka — and it made her want to change everything. To pin Alina against the wall, kiss her breathless, mess up her hair, show her what dangerous and loud _meant_. She wanted this — she’d always wanted this.

Except that what she wanted didn’t count for a damn thing.

The bells rang. Servants came to fetch her. They parted.

Zoya, to be wed.

Alina, to watch.

***

The wedding and coronation ran like a well-rehearsed play. Zoya hardly had to think about what to say or do — it was all muscle memory and practiced speeches. It looked like a fairy tale, the beauty of it all, the ceremony. Nikolai looked amazing, too, and together they must have made the prettiest royal pair in all the continent. Women, men, and everyone beyond and between — all whispered and swooned wherever they approached.

Zoya knew Nikolai would make a good husband. He had every intention of being the opposite of his father, and that included how Alexander the third had treated women. The fact that he’d pardoned Genya was show enough of his nature. He was a good man, and, more remarkable still, he and Zoya _got along_. He enjoyed her sarcasm, her callousness, and she liked his confidence and charming bravado.

By all accounts, Zoya was the luckiest woman in Ravka.

If it hadn’t been for the pretty face of a saint in the crowd, she might have believed that.

With a bow and flourish that made Nikolai laugh, Alina asked the new queen for a dance. The soft tunes of the harpsichords and viola shifted to something slower, more graceful, as if adjusting to the way they swayed together on the polished hardwood floor.

“You’re not as terrible a dancer as I expected,” Zoya said, looking away to the musicians.

“We had weekly lessons in Keramzin." Alina smirked, taking her in a swirl. "Had to be presentable for the Duke’s Summer balls, and such.” 

“You didn’t mention.” Zoya adjusted her hand on her shoulder. “You don’t talk much about your childhood.”

“Orphan’s habit,” she said. “And there’s not much to tell, anyway.”

“I doubt that.”

“You don’t talk much about yours, either.”

“Oh, you know,” she answered lightly. “Just your run-of-the-mill absent father, abusive mother, poverty, and trauma.”

Alina, of course, did not take the comment as a joke. Her eyebrow knitted the way it did whenever she seemed to be taking the whole damn pain of the world on her shoulders, and her fingers squeezed around Zoya’s. “I’m sorry,” she said with a sincere compassion that always made Zoya want to pull away.

“It doesn’t matter,” she replied, clipped. “I’d say I turned out just fine.”

“I’ll say. But that doesn’t mean it can’t still hurt.”

“It doesn’t.” When the beautiful brown eyes still didn’t stop worrying, Zoya added, “Not most of the time. Not for a while.”

“Good,” she said. “That’s good. Gives me hope, I guess.”

Words from their earlier conversation washed back. Mal, and the peace he needed; Alina, and the peace she couldn’t have. Zoya thought of their loss, these two perfect lovers, and everything the war had taken from them all. Friends, family, and the kind of clueless innocence you could never quite take back, once you knew how it felt to watch someone be torn apart by shadows.

“I’m sorry,” Zoya said, voice tight and tense. “For you and Mal.”

Alina tensed a little, taken aback by the sudden mention of him. “It’s okay,” she said, quiet. “It’s life. Our story could have ended a lot worse than this, I think.”

Zoya was silent for a few beats of the music, until the right words came to her.

“I wish you the best, Alina. It’s what you deserve.”

She smiled sadly. “Little too late for that, I’m afraid.”

“Tsk,” Zoya clicked her tongue, annoyed. “I know you don’t have much experience with good men, but your tracker is not irreplaceable, trust me.”

“It’s not that.”

A spin.

“What, then?”

A pull.

“The best is already taken.”

Zoya stilled.

The room around seemed to dim, and blur. The music quieted.

On its own, the softly spoken words were innocent, left to interpretation. _The best is already taken._ The best could be anyone. Anything. Zoya could have missed the way Alina’s eyes trailed on her dress as she said it, the longing in her voice. How her fingers almost brushed the white fabric on her waist, not quite daring to grab it. Not quite letting it go. She could have missed it. Wiser still, she could have ignored it.

But then again, Zoya had never claimed to be wise.

“So take them back,” she said, voice quiet, unsteady.

“I can’t,” the Sun Summoner murmured, closer to her. “She just got married. It was a whole thing.”

A thousand thoughts rushed through her, a thousand impossible prayers. _Ask me to leave him_. _Ask me to run away from here. Please. Just ask._

But Zoya stayed quiet, and Alina, in all her saintly selflessness, did not ask anything. She let go of her arm, and her waist. She walked by her, and dropped the lightest peck on her cheek, a gentle brush of lips, warm from the sunlight that always lingered on her skin.

Then, she left.

Zoya stood among the dancing bodies, dazed, choked up.

No. She did not feel lucky at all.

***

For the rest of the day, Alina was nowhere to be seen.

She was not at the evening banquet, nor at the Suli acrobats’ spectacle that came after. She was not in the salon where they shared drinks when the night got dark, either. Zoya tried to tell herself this was a good thing.

It didn’t matter, that Alina wanted her too. It just made it worse.

Her husband was charming, and that was a good enough distraction. When the time came to say goodbye to their guests, and they climbed up to the royal chambers, Zoya found she could forget about sunlight, for a while. She had expected she would need to force herself and fake enjoyment, on this first night, but the king of Ravka was not eager to force Zoya into anything. He asked — politely, almost — and she agreed.

***

It turned out that Nikolai was, in fact, very good in bed.

Of course he was.

“And here I thought your love of large boats served as compensation for your lacking in other areas,” Zoya said, brushing some hair off of her face. She felt tired, sweaty, and pleasantly satisfied.

“I think the boats have more to do with my lack of adequate father figures,” Nikolai laughed, and dropped a kiss on her shoulder. “Glad I could prove you wrong, though.”

Zoya hummed, resting her head back on the pillow. Nikolai propped himself on his elbow, looking at her body with appropriate appreciation.

Softly, he asked, “Are you okay, Zoya?”

She closed her eyes. “Do you really need more validation? It’s not attractive, you know—”

“I mean emotionally,” he corrected. “You looked sad, tonight.”

Zoya frowned. It was rather shocking that he’d noticed. Most men only saw her face as _pretty, bitchy,_ or both. That Nikolai could see beyond that and detect an emotion she’d been trying to hide…

She must have looked worried, because Nikolai added, “You don’t have to tell me. I know we haven’t known each other that long — you don’t have any duty to tell me these things. Though, I guess I do want to know…” He took a breath before he spoke, like he needed it to stay steady. “Do you still want to be my wife?”

Zoya snorted. “And what, if I say ‘no’ we’ll rush to church to get annulled promptly?”

Instead of rising up to the joke, Nikolai simply said, “Yes.”

She looked at him. Really looked at him. The thought was ridiculous — they’d spent so much money on this wedding, money their crumbling economy did not have to spare, and the diplomatic implications of such a quick annulment would be horrible and far-reaching, a mockery of every state-head that had made the trip to watch them wed, but… Nikolai was serious. Zoya knew, in that moment, that if she wished it, he would cancel everything. He’d find a way to lessen the damage, somehow.

She only had to say the word.

How different this was from another wedding she’d almost seen through, where Zoya’s words had meant so very little.

“I still want to be your wife,” she said, and she knew the words were true by how they tasted on her lips. She still wanted this life. She still wanted him.

“Okay,” Nikolai breathed, looking incredibly relieved.

“…But I’m in love with someone else.”

He sat up, and nodded, understanding. Like he’d been expecting something like that. “Yeah,” he said, ruffling his golden hair. “Yeah. I know.”

“You do?” she frowned.

“Alina, right?”

Her brows shot up, and she could feel the creep of a hot blush. “How—?” she choked, then schooled her expression back into something more _poised_ and _queenly_. “How could you possibly know that?”

“Well, I’ve been watching you closely for the past months. Getting to know you, seeing what you’re about. I don’t propose to just anyone, you know.”

“You proposed to Alina.”

“Quite,” he nodded. “I suppose we have similar taste in women. That’s good in a marriage, right?”

“Are you delirious?” she deadpanned.

“No,” he laughed kindly, and picked up her wrist to kiss her palm.

“You haven’t answered my question. How did you know?”

Nikolai smiled in her hand. “How did I know… Little things, I suppose. You’re different when she’s around. You talk more. You’re more proactive in meetings, and when you make a joke you always look to her first to check if she’s laughing. You’re not always nice to her, but you’re never unkind, or if you are, you regret it. And — well, I’ve seen the way you look at her.”

“How is that?” Zoya breathed.

“My dear, it is the way people look in churches,” he whispered, kissing her lips. “And I understand the feeling.”

Against his lips, she said, “In love with her too, are you?” 

“Not like you are,” he replied. “But we’re all a little in love with her, I think. She has that pull. I’d say it’s similar to yours, but then, that would be comparing sunlight to a thunderstorm. It’s as useless as trying to tame them.”

“What are you saying, Nikolai?” Zoya asked, more vulnerable than she’d intended.

“I’m saying I have no intention to restrain you. If you love her, be with her. I’ll simply ask that you keep it quiet, for the sake of my reputation — though even then, my father was a known cuckold and I suppose that didn’t kill him.” He rose an eyebrow, thoughtful. “Or did it?”

Zoya stared at him dubiously. “And… what do you think you’ll have to gain from that arrangement?”

Nikolai looked surprised, like the question hadn’t even occurred to him. “Gain?”

“Are you expecting I’ll be taking Alina to your bed? Two for the price of one — is this what this is about?”

The king’s ears and cheeks turned a pointed shade of beetroot red. “I— wh— no. No. I mean, if Alina wanted that, and you wanted that, I’d be uh, not opposed at all, believe me, but, uh— no. This isn’t about that. I just…” He huffed a breath, trying to cool down. “I want you to be happy, Zoya. Is that so hard to believe?”

Her brows knitted. “…A little,” she confessed.

Nikolai’s hazel eyes filled with a shocked sort of sadness, making Zoya feel too exposed and uncomfortable.

“Okay,” he said, rubbing his stubble. “Then, if you want another reason — I’m insuring your loyalty and that of my Second Army general. Also, if I were to fall in love with someone myself, I’d think this ‘arrangement’ would go both ways. Right?”

It was… a lot to take in. She’d never met a man who didn’t want to _possess_ her, to keep her all to himself, and what was more, Nikolai was the first to actually have a good claim to do so. Only a few hours ago, she’d been reciting vows about being _his_ , obeying him, submitting to him, staying faithful and loyal in all regards — yet here was her husband, offering her the very thing she’d spent the day trying to mourn.

“I… I haven’t even talked to her, Nikolai.”

He smiled, lying back on the pillow. “Well then. You’d best get on with that, right?”

***

It was odd to enter the Little Palace, now.

She was still a grisha, meaning she would always be welcome here, and she expected to work with the Trium Virate often in the future, but this was not her home anymore. She would not sleep in the bed that had seen her grow up, nor eat the kitchens’ terrible meals. She would not give lessons to the young ones, as she’d always expected she would, nor would she get up at dawn every morning to train in the Summoner’s field.

It wasn’t like she resented the loss, exactly. But it was odd.

The grisha she encountered on her way only enhanced the feeling — where before they might’ve nodded or had a chat with her, they now bowed or scurried away, intimidated. At least, it meant that when she asked a young one where the Sun Summoner was, her question was quickly answered.

Alina had elected her office in what had once been the Darkling’s war-room. When Zoya knocked and entered, she realized the location was the only part of the original design that had been salvaged — the room was now luminous, messy, full of flourishing plants and warm fabric.

Alina was at her desk, still in her celebration kefta — from that outfit and the dishevelled state of her hair, she’d likely not slept at all. Surrounded by a mess of papers and inks, she bore a deeply focused expression, drawing on a map of what had once been the Unsea. Zoya smiled, unable to help herself. The woman was a Saint, a General of the Second Army and part of the Grisha Trium Virate, but it seemed she’d always be a mapmaker at heart.

“Oh…” Alina said when she finally noticed her, looking up from her map. “Zoya. I didn’t think you’d be visiting so soon. Don’t you have some uh, fancy honeymoon to attend to?”

Zoya walked towards her, sitting on the desk. Their honeymoon wasn’t for another week, but she hadn’t come all this way to waste time with small talk.

“Did you mean what you said yesterday?” she asked bluntly.

Alina’s cheeks visibly flushed. “…Which part?”

“Don’t play dumb, Starkov. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“Right.” She sighed, passing a hand over her tired eyes. She pushed aside some of her papers, got up from her chair and leaned on a wooden column, eyes levelling with Zoya’s. “Yeah, I know. Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you any of that, it was…”

Zoya took her wrist and pulled her in, perhaps a little forcefully. “I’m not asking for a bloody apology. I’m asking if you _meant it_.”

Her lashes fluttered, lips parting as if breath had escaped her. It looked like a part of her wanted to run away, but Sankta Alina was nothing if not brave, so she swallowed, and answered.

“…I did. I did mean it.”

Unexpected relief washed over Zoya — not at the truth, she’d known that already, but she hadn’t been sure Alina would say it. That she would want to, or dare.

She slid her hand to Alina’s neck, pulled her closer, and kissed her.

They melted into each other like clouds, like ocean waves, two forces of nature that knew without being told how to come together. Her lips were so soft against hers, beautifully warm and easy to kiss, and when Alina's pretty hands went to Zoya’s cheeks, they were pouring with heat and unrestrained sunlight.

It was that light, that unusual loss of control that brought Alina back to her senses.

“Hold on,” she panted, “you’re — Nikolai—”

Zoya kissed her neck, enjoying the way Alina’s skin flushed and responded to every little touch, flustered and sensitive. “Nikolai doesn’t care.”

“What?” Alina said, distracted.

“In fact he’s rather invested in the matter, apparently,” Zoya went on, carrying her work to the tender skin of Alina’s ear. “Was going to carry me here himself if I didn’t go of my own design.”

“Wait,” she stammered, gently taking Zoya’s face so she could look at her. “Are you serious?”

 _I seriously don’t want to have this conversation when I could be kissing you instead,_ she thought. But Zoya was a little more mature and a little less desperate than that, so instead, she nodded. “I am. If you are.”

Alina let out a breathy, incredulous laugh. “Yeah?” She bit her lip and lowered her hands on Zoya’s shoulders. Her fingers trembled lightly, but it seemed to be from disbelief rather than fear. “Well, now I just feel bad. I just spent the past twenty-four hours hating your husband silently, and now I learn he’s helping me kiss you?”

“ _Hate_ , really now?” Zoya said playfully, dropping a kiss at the corner of her mouth. “And here I thought you two got along well.”

“Trust me,” Alina breathed, “it took me by surprise, too.”

Zoya nodded. That much, she understood.

She leaned Alina on the desk, and ah, how perfect she looked there, in a halo of silver hair, surrounded by papers and scattered inks. Her legs circled around Zoya’s hips, naturally settling there, naturally drawing her in, the way she’d always done.

_She has that pull._

In time, they would think about what this meant, about what words to use to describe the way they craved each other’s touch the way hot soil ached for rain. They’d think of where they stood, and where Nikolai stood, and how it would all work together. They would talk, in time. For now, all the words had gone out of them, and there was nothing left but this, bodies on a desk, sunlight and storm clouds. Zoya, and Alina.

They made quite a mess of the maps.

Zoya didn’t find it in herself to care.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, be sure to leave a comment ♡ 
> 
> For more Zoyalina art, you can find me on: 
> 
> \- instagram @jmlascar  
> \- tumblr @phy-be


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